


On the Move

by logince



Category: Skyrim
Genre: Farengar is autistic, Farengar is called Dayze, Farengar is gay, Listen I’m gay and I love men and so does my OC Rismer, M/M, Modern AU, and I didn’t want my professor to know I was into skyrim, because I wrote this for a creative writing assignment, i am not taking criticism on these two things, this is my first Ao3 work please be gentle uwu
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-11-25
Updated: 2019-11-25
Packaged: 2021-02-26 00:08:41
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,932
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21564292
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/logince/pseuds/logince
Summary: In a modern AU of Skyrim, Rismer is on the move away from being caught by the police. On his way to hide, he runs into someone, sort of. Dayze takes him In, but will they get along?
Relationships: Farengar Secret-Fire/Original Character(s)
Comments: 2
Kudos: 3





	On the Move

Water splashed up against his calves as he dodged through alley after alley. He had come to learn that passerby’s don’t give a second thought about people until they consider them a problem. Until they’ve been caught “loitering” for the tenth time.

  
Rismer snorted at the thought, practically skidding around a corner, gripping the rough brick walls to help him turn. He felt the skin on his hands tear, but he ignored it. Loitering. As if his days consisted of fun little strolls. Even when he wasn’t causing trouble, people found a way to say he was. He stumbled over uneven pavement, but quickly caught his footing.

  
If he weren’t so recognizable, he wouldn’t have to be so good at running, but he always found it unreasonable to cover every single scar. Especially since the most recognizable ones covered the expanse of his face. But more importantly, to him they were badges of pride--reminders that he’s survived--and purposefully hiding them would feel wrong, no matter the reason.

  
However, even with all the practice he’s had, he didn’t need to turn around to know that the footfalls behind him were quickly catching up. He knew that, despite his best efforts, he can’t run forever. Just the thought of being caught and confined sent chills down his spine. Sure, he was never the best at multitasking, but he was sure he couldn’t be that bad. So he exerted some energy to look up from watching the ground and scan over the alleys he dashed through, looking for a suitable hiding place. This caused him to lose focus, and he ended up making a wrong turn, and lead him to a dead end.

  
“Of course,” his thoughts were bitter as he frantically scanned his surroundings. “That’s the last time I try multitasking.” He knew from prior experience that hiding at and below ground level isn’t effective, so he factors that into his planning. His final decision resulted in him jumping to and scrambling up the nearest fire escape, his hands slipping on the wet rungs, before he rolled onto a landing, and out of sight.

  
He cursed, silently, and visualized a face from long ago, belonging to the only person who had ever cared for him. It brought him a sudden sense of calm. He waited and listened to the yelling and sounds of feet, using the time to catch his breath. He knew those chasing him wouldn’t search for him much longer. After all, he was only charged for loitering--as far as they knew.  
And there, soaking wet on the cold metal of a fire escape, is where Rismer met his best friend.

  
#

  
Dayze said he had been studying when he heard a loud metal sound, and had jumped to his feet, fists clenched. He studied the scene from the window--not noting anything of significance--before his eyes were drawn to the movement of a figure on his neighbor’s landing. He opened his window, and yelled at him to keep it down. Whenever the story was brought up, Rismer would point out that this is hardly a normal thing to do. Dayze would say the same of him. He had invited Rismer in, listened, and told him he could stay on the couch. Rismer wasn’t one to say no to shelter, so he cautiously agreed, sleeping fitfully.

  
After finding no purchase in sleep, Rismer conceded to tracing nonexistent patterns in the carpet and listening to Dayze talk under his breath. And, after a forecast predicting a week of thunderstorms, Dayze suggested he stay a little longer.

  
Dayze lived alone, and had eccentricities unfamiliar to Rismer. He would become annoyed with little warning, only sleep if his body forced it, mumble to himself, and rarely met your eyes. He lived his life on a schedule, and didn’t care for interruptions.

  
“Hey, uh, Dayze?” Rismer sat upside-down on the couch, hands behind his head, halfway through his third week here.

  
“What is it?” Dayze snapped. He was working, and Rismer knew he was, but he wanted to say his thought immediately, so he ignored Dayze’s cold tone.

  
“I--” he hesitated, before continuing, “I like it here. You’re different from most people I’ve come across.” He brought one of his hands around to his chin, absentmindedly rubbing the scar there.

  
“Though you might not seem it, you’re pretty nice to be around.” He finished, and when he looked toward Dayze, Dayze was staring at Rismer’s face.

  
“How did you get those?” Dayze was always very blunt, and didn’t seem to notice Rismer tense up, moving to sit up.

  
“I wasn’t careful...” Rismer said, hoping to end the conversation there. Dayze didn’t get the hint, and Rismer should’ve expected it, considering his curious nature.

  
“What do you mean? Did you fall? Were you attacked?” Dayze pushed, spinning to face Rismer more, avoiding eye contact in favor of visually tracing Rismer’s scars.

  
“Drop it, Dayze.” Rismer said more urgently, pushing himself into the corner of the couch.

  
“But why?” Dayze yelled as he stood, taking a step towards the other, on the couch. At the sudden motion, Rismer shot up, and stomped towards the door.

  
“Listen, I’m not one of your subjects to be examined.” He could feel his body shaking. “And I’m not a puzzle for you to figure out.”

  
He closed the door behind him, and felt Dayze’s cold eyes follow him the entire way out. He felt foolish, having gotten worked up enough to just leave like that, but he set his resolve. It was better this way, he reasoned, stepping out into the street.

  
And yet, a week later he was awoken by a shaking sensation. The previous hours he knew he had fallen asleep on a pile of old cardboard outside an alleyway, so at least the place he woke in was familiar. What was out place was Dayze crouched in front of him, face seemingly blank, and it brought his awareness back. When he sat up, Dayze pulled a granola bar out of his bag for him, and started up a lecture about hygiene. Rismer just couldn’t find it in himself to turn a cold shoulder to the other.  
This wasn’t the first time Rismer had run, and it wouldn’t be the last. However, this was the first time in a very long time that Rismer could recall someone welcoming him back.

  
#

  
It wasn’t the last time they argued, either. Rismer had always prided himself on his charismatic personality and his ability to keep his cool. It just always felt harder to keep his cool when Dayze was upset.

  
If asked, Dayze would say that he’s gotten much better about controlling his anger from when he was a child. Rismer argues that he is positive that Dayze’s current temperament is still considered the rock bottom of anger management.

  
Their first big fight is five months after their first meeting, and only a week after Dayze offers for Rismer to officially move in as a full-time roommate. He cited the fact that Rismer was already practically living with him, and the fact that having steady shelter should help the other be able to get a more substantial job than short-term manual labor offers.

  
Rismer accepted the kind offer and, without being asked, decided to tidy things up around the apartment until he could get a job. He put all the loose papers in a pile on Dayze’s desk, neat and orderly. He collected all the empty cups and garbage from the residence to clean later, revealing parts of the wall he was sure hadn’t seen the light of day in years. Finally, he took all the books and put them into the sparse bookshelf, making it look plentiful.

  
The more he cleaned, however, the more jittery he got. The more space he opened up, the more the walls seemed to close in around him. He flicked on a light, sure it was simply a perceptual thing. When the light seemed to highlight the ceiling, which was moving ever downward without ever getting any closer, Rismer fled to the windows. He opened the window near the fire escape to try to open the space up more. Instead, the windows seemed to grow smaller and smaller, the exits closing.

  
When Dayze got home that evening, he stood in the doorway, shocked. Every light was on, every window was open, all the books he had been citing were gone from his desk, his rough drafts were all piled together out of order… and Rismer was gone. He was infuriated, and felt his blood chill. It was less than 48 hours when Dayze opened the door to see Rismer, his head hanging to the side, hair in his face. He opened his mouth immediately, only for Dayze to turn on heel and walk back into his apartment.

  
“What?” Dayze said, crouching over his standing desk. Rismer followed him in, used to his abruptness. He frowned at cups littering the table, and the trash surrounding Dayze’s desk in a halo.

  
“I’m sorry for just disappearing like that,” Rismer murmured, and gave the walls a wary look.

  
“But I see you continued life on without me, and un-did the cleaning up I did.” That comment was the straw that caused Dayze’s quiet fury to break.

  
“Your “cleaning up” put me--!” Dayze fumbled for the words, slamming his hands into the tabletop. “Months! Months behind!”  
“I don’t understand,” Rismer responded, carefully.

  
“Of course you wouldn’t understand,” Dayze shook his head before yelling, “you’ve ruined the outline for my paper’s progress!”

  
Rismer knew he should breathe, walk away, apologize, something, but he felt his traitorous brow furrow into a glare.

  
“You’re mad at me for cleaning?” He accused. “Everything wrong in and with the world and you’re mad at me for cleaning?” Dayze turned towards him, and the look in his eyes made Rismer realize that this was confrontation--he was confronting someone--

  
“Yes! You--you ruined my careful organization! You took all my thesis papers and just!” Dayze laughed, but it wasn’t happy. “Threw them together, out of order, for me to fix! You even threw some of them away! And now, I’m months behind schedule! Not that it seems to matter to you!”

  
Rismer rolled his eyes, and stepped to the side, feeling the jittery energy from before come back, tenfold. “We’re really arguing about this?” His voice was getting louder, and he couldn’t make it stop. “We’re arguing about something I did to try to help you? To make your life easier? Since all you do is make life harder for yourself?” He yelled.

  
Dayze threw his hands up and took a step towards Rismer. “You may have tried to help, but you did more harm than you did good. If we’re going to live together, we have to have boundaries!”

  
Rismer took a step back, drawing his shoulders up to his ears, curling into himself. “Well, I can’t live with you if you’re going to freak out like this every time I make a dumb mistake!”

  
“This is more than just a simple mistake--!”

  
“God, living with you is like living in a god damn cage!” Rismer screamed.

  
“You’re afraid!” Dayze stepped into Rismer’s space, shaking with emotion. “You’re so afraid, you can’t even see the only thing caging you is yourself!”

  
Rismer tried to take a step back, but hit the bookshelf behind him instead. He felt cornered. He felt hot. He couldn’t breathe.

He slowly started to shake his head, and he ultimately resorted to doing what he knew best.

  
He ran.

**Author's Note:**

> Please don’t be mean to me, my feelings are very squishy.


End file.
